


Grit

by rosaliepennington



Category: Star Wars, The Force Awakens - Fandom
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Ben Solo - Freeform, F/M, Kylo Ren - Freeform, Kylo Ren and Rey Are Not Related, Love, Mental Health Issues, Rey - Freeform, Reylo - Freeform, Romance, Star Wars - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-17 01:54:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 16,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5849491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosaliepennington/pseuds/rosaliepennington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I was inspired by this prompt on tumblr! </p><p>Raise your hand if you’d like to read a Reylo AU fic that delves into mental illness, the danger of codependent relationships, and a brutally honest portrayal of what Ben-Solo-in-the-real-world might be like.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Excuse me? Miss?”

Reina’s head snapped up, earphone falling out of her ear.

It was a man, tall, dark-haired, full-lipped.

She looked at him, expression blank.

“The jackets…out there on the rack. They’re a dollar each?”

“Right.”

“Okay.” 

The man strode back outside. Eyebrows furrowed, Reina leaned over the counter, watching as he pulled the first jacket off the rack. And the second. And then the third. Throwing them effortlessly over his shoulder, he strode back into the tiny thrift shop where Reina worked, heavy footfalls shaking the place.

Reina didn’t ask questions. She rang up the jackets and put the three wrinkled bills into the cash register. 

“Have a nice day,” she muttered, as was per usual with each customer.

The man started, as if he hadn’t been expecting friendly words. 

“You, too,” he said, voice gravelly and genuine.

Reina leaned back on the counter on her elbows as he left the store with wide strides. The man was wearing wide, worn-down, thin jeans and tennis shoes. The soles were slowly ungluing themselves from the rest of the shoe. And his jacket was leather, also worn, covered in scratches, covering his wide, globed shoulders.

Reina stood, crossing her arms over her chest and backing into the wall.


	2. Jeans.

“Ben.”

“Nice to meet you, Ben. I’m Reina.”

“Reina,” Ben repeated. “Pretty.”

“Thank you,” Reina said, instinctively crossing her arms. 

“I’m… looking for jeans.”

“We have a section for jeans,” Reina said. “It’s just…back there.”

Ben glanced to the back, dark eyebrows furrowed. His cheeks were light pink, the chill outside to blame, no doubt. Winter in East St. Paul, Minnesota, was not kind to those lacking in riches.

“Sorry...”

“I’ll show you,” Reina said, shrugging off the button-covered vest she wore and setting on the desk next to her. She skirted around the desk and toward the back of the room, and knowing that Ben was behind her, following her, gave her this feeling in the pit of her stomach. 

“These just came in. And those…that’s the sale section.”

Ben’s eyes immediately skipped to the sale section. One foot stepped that way.

Reina’s eyes softened. He was just confirming what she’d already guessed.

She set her hand on the end of the sale rack. “These are the cheapest. These ones…have a lining, I think, they’re the warmest.”

“Thank you.” Ben said, bending down slightly to take the jeans off the rack. He checked the price. Reina looked away.

“I can ring those up for you,” she said.

“That’s fine,” he said after a pause. “I’m going to—“

“Well, actually,” she said, grasping for ideas, “Those have an extra discount. Because they’ve been here for awhile. So.”

“How much?” 

“Three dollars.”

The side of Ben’s mouth turned up, and Reina felt the warm feeling somewhere in her chest heat up.

“You can’t make up discounts.”

“Yes, I can.” Reina said, and held out a hand for the pants, which Ben handed to her, his large hand brushing her finger. He could probably hold her whole fist in one hand and make it disappear completely, she thought. His fingers were cold, skin cracked. Another overwhelming feeling of pain overtook her. This man, this stranger…it was as if she’d known him her whole life.

Ben’s eyes were dark, lined with red.


	3. Bridge.

Ben’s hands were shaking, Reina noticed, as she rang up the wool hat for $0.00.

There was something so sad in Ben’s eyes, deeply, intensely sad.

“Thank you,” he said. “But…won’t your boss find out?”

Reina shook her head. 

Ben’s eyes fell to the button-covered jacket she wore. “What’s that one?”

Reina touched the button he’d nodded toward. It was simple and red. The letters spelled out D-A-R-E.

“It’s an anti-drugs and anti-violence campaign.”

She glanced down at his shaking hands, and he tucked them into his jacket. One of the $1 jackets he’d bought two weeks before.

“And you’re part of this…campaign?”

Reina nodded.

At this, Ben smiled. “Queen.”

“What?”

“Reina. It means ‘queen’ in Spanish. I’ve been trying to remember.”

Reina’s cheeks flushed. He’d been thinking about her. This tall, dark stranger had been thinking about her. She couldn’t understand why she couldn’t think of him as just someone who needed help, needed her charity. He was more than that.

Ben swallowed hard, and then tripped over his following words. “Y—you’ve been so generous, I don’t—don’t know if I can keep coming back. You’re gonna get caught.”

Reina gave him a half-smile. “I’m not near as naïve as you think I am, Ben.”

There must have been a touch of darkness in her words, because Ben started. Then again, in the two weeks she’d been seeing him come into the store, he’d proved to be a rather shaky individual.

“Right.”

His hands were on the counter again, tapping, bouncing. Reina set her hand down on his, but the shaking didn’t stop. He pulled his hand away.

“Ben?”

“I have to go.”

Reina watched him leave. She walked around the counter and stared out the window, arms crossed. She watched his tall figure amble away down the street, take one half-glance back, and then start down the snowy hill, toward the bridge.


	4. Yes.

Ben couldn’t stay away.

Reina watched him come toward the thrift shop, hatless, hair free to the winter sleet. His thick, dark beard was stark against his white skin.

Reina’s stomach felt strange and fluttery all of a sudden, emotions swirling into a cocktail. She ducked into the backroom and stood against the door, breathing hard.

Chills ran down her spine.

She heard the bell tied to the door tingle, and Ben’s gentle, heavy footsteps.

Reina crossed her arms and stared at the books on the bookshelf across from her. 

What the hell was she doing?

 

Reina pushed the door open, trying to appear casual, but the second she laid eyes on Ben, the world fell out from under her.

She’d never fallen so fast, not ever. Her heart was jumping out of her chest for this man, this man who stood there, cheeks pink from the cold, hair a wild mess, eyes dark and sad as ever.

“I was just getting something,” she said.

Ben nodded. He looked more alert than usual, more cautious, but just as jittery.

“I’m…I need a pen.”

“Will you have dinner with me?”

Reina didn’t intend for it to happen, but it did. The words just jumped out of her mouth.

Ben’s eyes were wide. “D—dinner?”

“Yes. With me.”

“With you?”

“With me.”

“Tonight?”

Reina nodded. “Tonight. Tomorrow. Whenever you’re free.”

“I’m free tonight,” Ben said quickly, and then his cheeks reddened.

“Okay,” Reina said, cheeks mirroring his. “Good. I mean…do you just want to meet me here? I asked, so…I’ll take you out.”

Ben’s eyebrows furrowed, giving him the look of an unhappy puppy.

“I…”

“Please.”

Ben crossed his arms, in a manner that reminded Reina of herself.

“What time?”


	5. Are you sure?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not promoting smoking! Please don't smoke.

Reina didn’t date. She hadn’t ever dated. 

And somehow, here she was, sitting on a bench in the thrift store with a tag marked $30, waiting for Ben.

She didn’t fancy herself the waiting type, either.

And somehow, here she was.

She did not expect him to show up. She did not expect it when the door jingled and opened, and Ben stepped through, wearing the wool hat she’d given him.

He saw her, and he smiled, and she knew her life as she knew it was officially over.

“I like your eyes.”

Reina resisted the urge to clap her hand over her mouth.

But Ben laughed and it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever heard. It changed him into a completely different person—not one of the cold, bags beneath eyes and red, raw cheeks, but one of warm nights by the fire and glasses of wine.

“My eyes?”

Reina blushed. 

Ben smiled. “I like yours, too.”

Reina stared at her shoes. “So…where would you like to go?”

Ben’s arms crossed, and the warmth in his eyes died a little bit. He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and flipped it between his fingers. She recognized the branding.

“You smoke?”

“Oh,” Ben said, “No. My…uh. Can’t afford the habit.”

Reina gave him a half smile. “I do,” she said, and fished a lighter from her pocket. Ben lifted the cigarette to his lips, and Reina pressed a hand against his chest as she flicked the lighter. His heart was hammering.

She pulled back. “Awful habit,” she said. “Awful. I shouldn’t be encouraging.”

Ben coughed on the cigarette, a puff of smoke blowing into her face. Reina didn’t flinch. She loved the smell of this cigarettes. She couldn’t help it.

It reminded her of her mother.

Ben shook his head. “S-sorry.”

Reina shook hers. “It’s fine. I…uh…would you like to come upstairs? I live in the apartment up there. I could…make you dinner.”

Reina knew she was giving him an offer he wouldn’t refuse.

Ben’s eyes widened again, and Reina was struck by how handsome he was. “A—are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”


	6. Spaghetti?

Ben had to duck to get into the apartment. Reina hurried into the kitchen and set a pot of water on the stove to boil.

“Can I help?”

Reina whirled around—she thought he’d sat down on the couch.

“Well, I thought I’d make us dinner.”

“I’d like to help. Really,” Ben said, stepping into the kitchen.

“Okay,” Reina said. “Could you get the tomato sauce? It’s up there.”

Ben reached the top shelf easily. He set the tomato sauce on the counter.

Reina dumped the noodles into the boiling water, aware of how close Ben was standing behind her. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling.

Simple spaghetti, but Ben inhaled it. Reina pushed the noodles around with her fork. She couldn’t stop staring at him, his large body tucked into one of the small chairs in her breakfast nook. Miraculously, despite this disparity in size, she felt like he fitted in there. 

“Your apartment is nice,” Ben said. 

Reina shrugged. “It’s kind of—well, yeah. It’s nice.”

“I’m saving for one.”

The words had slipped from Ben’s mouth as if he hadn’t intended them to come out in such a way—or at all. 

“Where do you live now?”

Reina had meant it as an innocent question, but as soon as the words were out there in the air she realized how stupid that was.

“I’m sorry,” she started, when Ben didn’t reply, “I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s alright.” Ben said, and sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Where I live…it’s not very consistent.”

“Oh,” Reina said, her voice tiny. She didn’t know how to express to him everything she was feeling, which was that she understood the walls he was keeping between them, knew every crack and ridge. She understood what it was to guard your past with walls of concrete.

Ben was staring at her, face so similar to a puppy’s. Reina wanted to run her hand through his hair. She wanted to run her hands through his hair for hours.

“How was the spaghetti?” Reina asked.

“Amazing,” Ben said, cracking a smile, and suddenly, Reina couldn’t hold herself back any longer. She leaned across the table, elbow in her spaghetti, and took his face in his hands. And she kissed him.


	7. You're shaking.

At first, there was nothing. Ben’s full lips were slightly open in surprise, but suddenly he took in a great breath and kissed her back with vigor. He tasted like spice and tomato and smoke. Reina’s hands were in his hair, gently combing the dark strands with her fingers. He pulled her up against him suddenly, and Reina made a small noise between shock and pleasure, and then they were standing, moving toward the couch, leaving the kitchen behind. 

Reina fell onto the couch on her back, and Ben bent over her, tracing lips from her cheeks, her forehead, her lips—where she stalled him for a second—before trailing kisses down her neck, surprisingly gentle. Reina breathed out heavily into the crook of his neck, hands still tangling in his hair. She giggled when she realized her fingers were stuck, knotted in the black locks.

“Ow,” Ben said, and then realized what had happened as Reina full-on laughed and pulled her fingers from his hair. Their lips met clumsily again, and this time Reina’s hands went to his chest, feeling his heart beat fast, and then to his waist. He climbed fully above her, his large hands to the side of her cheeks. 

“You’re shaking,” Reina whispered, voice thick.

Ben ignored this, burying his head in her neck, lips soft and warm. Reina moaned.

Her hands were tucked under his shirt, and in a frenzy he lifted it over his shoulders. Reina ran her hands over his chest. 

“Y—you’re still shaking.”

Ben had his eyes closed and was breathing hard. His face wasn’t flushed as it had been, but pale. Reina could feel a tightness pressing against her thigh.

“Ben,” she whispered. “Are you okay?”

He didn’t respond.

Cautiously, nervously, Reina pulled his down onto her, wrapping her arms around his wide, warm chest. He nestled into her neck, and she could feel a wetness there—tears.

Reina could feel her own tears welling in her eyes, and felt ridiculous, because she didn’t even know what they were crying about. She curled against Ben’s body, and was shocked to find that after a few seconds, she'd begun gently rubbing her hands across his side, his hip, in an attempt gesture of reassurance.

“I’m sorry.”

Ben’s whisper was heavy with pain.

Reina pulled away from him and stood, hearing his sigh as if he knew this was coming. But Reina held out a hand. Ben took it, and sat up cautiously, wiping a cheek off on his shoulder. Reina pulled him along behind her, pushing open the door to her bedroom.

She climbed into bed and under the covers, and, because she wouldn’t let go of his hand, Ben followed suit. Face to face, Reina pulled him closer, hands on his shoulders, his on her hips. Their warm breath mingled.

“Don’t apologize.”

“Okay.”


	8. Pain memories.

Reina awoke alone, and it hurt.

In the back of her mind, she knew the answer. She didn’t know what drugs he was on, and she didn’t know how broke he was. She didn’t even know his last name.

This alone was reason enough to give up.

She knew pain, and Ben had it in spades. He carried it with him on his shoulders, like a pile of bricks in a black bag. She wanted to help him carry it, but she had her own black bag.

The past wasn’t something she liked to think of, to bring up in conversation, to remember. In fact, her past had no place in her mind. Ever.

But Ben had brought her past back to the surface of her life, hiding just under a thin sheet of glass, just because of the overwhelming emotion he caused--emotion she hadn't felt in years. Like pain memories, recollections floated past her eyes, filling her ears with echoes of past lives.

He didn’t some back to the shop for a week.

Reina knew one of her buttons said ‘PATIENCE, ABOVE ALL THINGS,’ but patience didn’t feel like the right assurance right now. She didn’t know what to do. 

He’d consumed her every other thought.

On the seventh day of Ben’s absence in the shop, Reina took her lunch break outside.

She sat in front of the shop on a rickety bench and rubbed her ungloved hands together for warmth. She didn’t know to what extent Ben was homeless. She didn’t know if he had an inconsistent place to sleep, or if he'd lied and was out on the streets every night. A pang of sadness pierced her heart.

A sudden memory hit her like a wall of bricks, like a gust of chilly wind.

She remembered playing in the fenced-in blacktop playground in grade school. The school was in the heart of the city, tiny and ancient and falling down and losing funds, like most of the schools in the city. Almost every child was colored—Reina herself was Mexican, but her skin was very light, and looking so white hadn’t helped her popularity.

She remembered coming out onto that playground one day and finding a man in heavy black clothes slumped against the garbage can, his feet curled into the brick wall like he was hoping the school would protect him from the wind.

She remembered walking toward him, looking at his dark skin and rough hands, those nicotine-stained fingers she recognized so well. This had struck something in her, and as soon as the first obnoxious child decided he’d try and wake up this stranger, Reina had jumped in front of him, hushed the kid. It hadn’t worked—the man had gotten up and ran.

Reina blew out clean air from her lungs into the winter chill. Two days. Two days without smelling a cigarette. She’d lied to Ben before, saying she smoked. She didn’t. She just liked to smell them. She'd light them and hold one to her face, inhaling memories. 

It had been years since her mother had died, and Reina couldn’t let her go. Not yet.

“Reina?”

Reina’s head snapped up, the voice jolting her from her thoughts.

Ben. Standing in front of her. 

Reina stood. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he said, and she noticed his hands weren’t shaking.

Contrary to popular belief, this was not a good sign. 

“Hey,” he said, and that half-smile melted a few of Reina's worries. 

“Want to come in?” Reina asked.

Ben nodded.

She stepped into the store and turned around to face him. His eyes were dark, and there was a hunger in his expression that she’d never seen before.

He stepped toward her.

In a blind panic, Reina turned away, feeling confused and indignant, but Ben pulled on her arm and harshly caught her against him. She could feel his heart beating fast and loud against hers when he took her lips in his, and she knew this was different because it felt different. He felt different.

He felt strong, tight, and anxious, emanating none of the warmth she'd come to associate him with. He pushed her against the counter, and her back bent, a pencil poking into her skin. She whimpered from the pain, and Ben moaned into her mouth. His teeth were causing tiny fissures in her lips, and she was scared she’d bleed, but she couldn’t keep her hands from pulling him closer to her, from keeping him against her. Dear god, she was going to hell. 

“Rei…” he breathed heavily, voice thick with emotion and heavy with lust.

“Ben,” she moaned, unable to help herself. She knew something was wrong, something she couldn’t place, but the warm feeling in her chest wouldn’t let her let him go.

He pulled her away from the counter and tripped, knocking over a rack of clothes, but taking no notice, just pulling Reina closer. He lifted her against him, and her legs wrapped around his waist. She clung on tightly, half scared, half exhilarated, the place between her legs throbbing with excitement.

And then his hands were under her shirt, lifting it over her head, and she somehow managed to say, “Not here—not here…”

But Ben didn’t listen, discarding her shirt on the green carpet of the thrift shop, pushing her up against the wall. Reina gasped as the wind was knocked out of her.

“Ben!”

Reina pulled away, coughing, and Ben pressed a hand to his forehead, which was beaded with sweat—more than usual. 

Reina tugged her own sports bra up and put a hand to Ben’s forehead, pushing his out of the way. 

“You’re burning up.”

Ben coughed. “Cocaine.”

Reina felt as if a heavy rock had dropped into her stomach. “Cocaine?”

Ben coughed again, and Reina too notice of his chapped lips.

“You’re coming with me,” Reina said. “Upstairs.”

“No,” Ben said, pulling away and stumbling. “No, no—I have to get back. I can’t take your…your charity.”

“It's not charity,” Reina grunted weakly, tugging him toward the stairs. Ben collapsed on the floor, tripping over yet something else.

Reina sank onto the bottom step, head in her hands.

She was alone, and she didn’t know what to do.


	9. Eggs.

Reina sat on her couch, arms crossed. Ben was crouched in the corner, knees hugged to his chest. He hadn’t spoken a coherent word since she’d helped him up the stairs, and his eyes looked cloudy and distant.

“I’m going to take a shower,” she said.

Ben didn’t look up.

Reina got up, crossed the room, walked into the bathroom, closed the door, and stripped. She stepped into the shower and let the lukewarm water clean her skin. When she stepped out, she wrapped herself in a towel and cautiously stepped into the small living room.

Ben was snoring.

Despite herself, despite everything, a tiny smile crept onto her face. He looked so peaceful, so innocent. She went into her bedroom and pulled on sweats and a t-shirt. Then she went back to Ben and stuck her hands under his arms, grunting as she lifted him onto the couch. She made a mental note to make sure to continue doing those '80s workout videos, no matter how much they sucked.

She made a bowl of oatmeal in the microwave and sat down on the coffee-stained living room carpet, just staring at him.

She didn’t know when she’d fallen asleep, but she awoke to the sun streaming through the dusty apartment air, and a smell that reminded her of…eggs?

Reina sat up, stretching, and went into the kitchen. Ben stood before the stove, frying something unmistakably eggy in the pan. Reina stepped closer.

“Good morning,” she said.

Ben jumped and spun around. “Oh! You’re awake. I, uh…I was making some breakfast. I had one of your bananas. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. You cook?”

“Just…easy stuff. Eggs…frozen pizza…mac n’ cheese…”

“Well, that’s pretty much all I eat. I think we’ll get along fine.”

Ben flushed. He looked at his feet. “I’m sorry for yesterday. I don’t remember…exactly…but I woke up with a splitting headache, so it couldn’t have been...great.”

“I have ibuprofen. Did you find it? It’s in the bathroom in a cabinet, I can give it to you.”

Ben shook his head. “I want to remember the headache. For next time.”

“Oh,” Reina said quietly. “You said yesterday you were on cocaine.”

Ben swallowed. “And….I haven’t eaten. For a few days. God,” he said, burying his face in one hand.

Reina stared.

“I’m taking advantage of you.”

His words were so full of remorse, full of pain, that Reina found her heart breaking for him. She pulled his hand away from his face.

“You need a job.”

“I’m a dealer.”

“You need a real job.”

“Nobody will hire me.”

“My boss will. You can work here. And then, when you get enough, you can help me pay rent. And then you can buy your own apartment. You know. Since that’s what you want.”

Ben’s eyebrows furrowed. “But—how do you know your boss will hire me?”

Reina  sighed. “If I tell him I’ll quit otherwise, he’ll hire you.”

Ben stared.

Reina found herself staring at the floor, muttering quietly. “He’s…never mind. Just trust me, okay? I’m your best bet.”

Ben did not look reassured. “But—,”

“Ben.” Reina said, rolling her eyes. “Work with me, live here, help pay rent, move out. But first take a shower. Please.”

Ben didn’t smile.

“I live under the bridge right now.”

Reina’s mouth opened in shock.

“You…you live under…”

Ben was staring at his bare feet. 

Reina turned away. “With how many others?”

Ben sighed. “About fifteen. On and off.”

Reina stepped away, taking deep breaths.

“I didn’t...understand.”

Ben was staring at the cabinet. “Nobody does, until it’s them.”

“Ben, I…”

“Don’t apologize,” he said, echoing her words from their last night together. “Don’t. It’s my fault.”

“How—?”

“I’m going to take a shower now. If that’s okay with you.”

Reina nodded mutely.

Ben stepped away—but then back, and leaned down slowly, as if he was going to kiss her forehead, but reconsidered and turned away. Reina sucked in a breath and watched him leave the kitchen, the eggs steaming in the pan.


	10. Kiss me.

Three days living together, three nights of Ben sleeping on the couch, and one interview set up for Friday.

Reina was starting to get worried. She wasn’t paid much, only enough to provide for herself, and she had little inheritance left. Her mom had died when she was twelve, and she’d been pushed through foster home after foster home until she turned eighteen and was able to afford the tiny apartment.

She rationed herself carefully, always allowing Ben the bigger portions. She’d never eaten like a king, but she’d never gone hungry. Ben, on the other hand…

Thursday night. Ben knocked on the apartment door and Reina opened it.

“How are you feeling? About the interview.”

“Fine. I think,” Ben said, nervously wringing his hands. “It’s been a long time since I’ve interviewed for a job.”

Reina had borrowed some nice clothes from a male friend for Ben’s interview the day after.

She stepped back as he stepped in. There’d been a sort of wall between them since he’d moved in. He didn’t have much—just enough clothes to last a week. He kept them in a bag next to the couch. Reina had moved a blanket and pillow from her bed to the couch for him. She didn’t know how she’d found it in her heart, this generosity, this insanity—taking a practical stranger into her small home.

Reina went into the kitchen. She’d made herself and Ben two bowls of ramen noodles. She handed him one, as he came up behind her. He always had to duck in the kitchen, because the ceiling was only about six feet high, and Ben was a good six feet, three inches.

This was something Reina liked about him.

She didn’t know why, but it was nice, that big height. It suited him. 

They ate their ramen in silence. Reina watched TV on the tiny screen on her phone in her pajamas before getting into bed. She knew Ben was in the living room, just on the other side of the wall, and her heart seemed to be beating faster these last few nights as she lay in bed, thinking about this. About him.

His face, his lips, his dark eyebrows. A palate of whites and pinks, and the darkness of his hair, the hair that fell to his shoulders. His ears, his dimples.

The way his lips felt on her skin.

She couldn’t help it—she wanted Ben.

Reina fell asleep curled around a pillow that night.

At two in the morning, she snapped awake, mind reeling. She fell against the pillows and pressed her hands to her temples.

Snip.

She froze. Pulling back the covers, Reina slipped out of bed. She crept toward the door to the bedroom, and slowly opened it. A light shone from the bathroom.

Dread filled every inch of her as she stepped toward the slanted light. She peered through the crack between the almost-closed door and the wall, and her breath caught in her throat.

Ben, scissors in one hand and beard in the other, was snipping off strands of hair into the garbage can he’d set on the sink. 

“Ben?”

Ben jumped, and the scissors poked him hard in the neck. “Ouch!”

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Reina said, pushing the door open. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Reina opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out a box of Band-Aids. Ben wiped the cut with a Kleenex and took the Band-Aid.

“You’re cutting it off.” Reina said.

Ben said nothing. Their bodies were close in the brightly lit, small bathroom. Reina became suddenly aware that she wore a tank top and no bra. 

“I have razors,” Rey said, removing a box from the medicine cabinet. She rinsed one off in the sink. “No cream, but…”

She stepped closer, and tilted his chin toward hers. “Let me.”

Ben closed his eyes, and Reina pressed the razor against his skin, dragging it carefully across his jawline. She wanted to be gentle.

“How long’s it been? Since you shaved or cut your hair?”

“Months.”

Reina pulled the razor gently across his skin, dipped it back into the sink, and kept at it.

Ben’s breathing became shallow, clearly controlled. His fingers were shaking.

“And the cocaine. How long?”

“A week.”

“Withdrawal hurts, yes?”

“Yes,” Ben whispered.

Reina dropped the razor at the tenor of his voice and put both hands on Ben’s smooth chin. She put the pad of her thumb against his lips, moving upward, to the space of smooth skin below his nose. Ben looked pained, or scared, or something—she couldn’t tell.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Reina wrapped her arms around his shoulders and stood on her toes, trying to get eye-to-eye with him. Their foreheads touched.

“How about now?”

“Good.”

She pressed her lips against his, and again he was hesitant, but she pushed his lips open, and left wet kisses in his mouth. Into his lips she whispered, “And…now.”

Ben’s breath was ragged. “Kiss me.”


	11. Home.

Reina wanted so badly to press her lips to his in return, but she whispered softly, “I’m not doing this—helping you—just because I want you. And you don’t have to be with me to get my help.”

Ben looked down his nose into her eyes, just inches from his.

“I know,” he said, and took her lips in his.

Reina kissed him like she was drowning and he was fresh, summer air. Like the winter had given way to spring, as if finally, finally, the clouds had parted in the sky and the sun was shining through. She pulled her toward him with everything she had. He backed her against the bathroom counter, and she heard the garbage can fall onto the tile floor. 

His hands were on her waist, her tank top riding up, up, up until she pulled it over her head and tossed it onto the floor, kissing Ben’s neck with renewed vigor as his fingers touched her chilled breasts, and Reina gasped.

Ben picked her up as he had when they’d kissed in the shop, a question in his eyes. 

“M-my bedroom,” Reina whispered.

Ben crossed into the bedroom and laid her down on her back, fingers on the waistband of her shorts. She tangled her fingers in his hair. His lips touched the skin of her stomach, skidding along like skating on ice, and Reina couldn’t help but dig her fingers further into his scalp. Ben whimpered.

“Oh—I’m sorry!” Reina gasped.

“No, no,” Ben murmured against her skin. “Feels nice.”

And then his fingers were tugging on her waistband. 

“Is this…?”

“Yes!” Reina groaned, and without need for further permission, Ben pulled her shorts down and rested his mouth on the soft skin just below her abdomen.

There was silence in the apartment, save for Reina and Ben’s heavy breathing. Reina could feel his mouth moving down, his tongue licking right there—she couldn’t remember any time when this had ever felt so good. Her fingers bunching the sheets together, she closed her eyes tight, face flushed and knuckles white.

Every sound she made seemed to spur him on, and the fast, but somehow luxurious pace at which he took things.

Somehow, eventually, his pants were gone too and he was inside her, and every thrust felt like heaven, like an epiphany, like sunshine.

They came together, somehow, magically. That one moment where everything was perfect stretched on, black spots dancing in Reina’s vision.

Ben collapsed on top of her, heavy and sweaty, and Reina shaking. Somehow, she felt safe there, in the cocoon of the warmth of his body, his bare skin. She let her arms fold together, to become smaller. It was the same feeling she got when she lit a cigarette.

Home.

In the middle of the night, she awoke, Ben's arms still wrapped around her, a soft melody in her ear. Ben's low, gravelly voice. He was humming.

"What's that?" 

Ben stopped. "I'm sorry--I woke you up."

"It's okay. I liked it," Reina said, turning over in his arms, their noses inches away from each other. "What was the song?"

Ben's mouth quirked up in a half smile and he shut his eyes tight. "It's stupid."

"What is it?" Reina repeated. 

"That song...from that movie."

Ben started humming again, and Reina could feel his lungs vibrate with the sound, hands on his chest.

She nestled her head under his chin, and he kept on humming.


	12. Shock.

Reina awoke in the circle of Ben’s arms.

Shivering slightly, she snuck out of his grasp, threw on a robe, and walked into the living room, crouching on the couch and hugging herself in the morning chill that filled her apartment.

How strange this was. How sweet and beautiful and strange he was, sleeping in her bed. In HER bed. There was a man in her bed, and she really, really liked him, and THAT was terrifying.

She wanted with all her heart to go back inside and snuggle in his arms, but she wasn’t that girl, and she knew it. So she got up and she made oatmeal. Just one bowl.

Reina had suddenly come to terms with the fact that she had no idea how this was going to work. Living together. Was it a roommate thing? More than that?

She had no idea.

And THAT, too, was terrifying.

And so, as a manner of coping, she fell asleep.

She was suddenly in high school again. At a party in someone’s basement, crouched in the corner, inhaling the pot smoke. A sickly flip turned in her stomach at the stench, but sixteen-year-old Reina didn’t cover her nose or flinch. She didn’t know why.

She didn’t remember who the basement belonged to. Some friend of a friend. She didn’t really even know if it counted as a party. There was alcohol, and there was weed. In their minds, that counted.

Reina didn’t dance, and she was not fond of being danced upon. 

And she didn’t know how it’d happened, but she’d started talking to him.

He wasn’t tall, but he was a football player. The brown skin on his arms was soft, but his hands were coarse. Reina did not know him. She’d seen him at the only football game she’d ever attended, when her friend Amira had swooned over him.

She’d never found him attractive.

And that night, she’d consumed some alcohol.

She didn’t know how much, or what it was, but Amira had given it to her, and she trusted Amira.

She didn’t know how the next thing happened, either.

They were in some hallway, and Antonio the football player with rough hands was groping her, putting his fingers all over her, places they weren’t allowed to go, and Reina was pushing him away, but he was digging her into the wall. He smelt of weed.

“No,” she’d said.

It was then that she learned just how little the word ‘no’ meant coming from a girl’s lips.

“Reina? Reina, wake up!”

Her eyes snapped open. She was leaning on the couch, sideways, rode still wrapped around her. Her knuckles were white and her hands were shaking just like Ben’s did.

Ben was staring down at her. “Bad dream.”

It wasn’t really a question.

Reina nodded, struggling to sit up fast and minimize the apparent effect the dream-memory had had on her, but she found only anger and hate. She couldn’t believe she’d dreamt of this—she hadn’t for years, hadn’t even thought about it for years. She hated herself for being so weak.

“I’m fine,” Reina said, and pushed herself off the couch. “I’m going to make breakfast.”

“Did you make this for yourself?”

Reina looked down—there was a bowl of cold oatmeal tucked into the lining of the couch.

“Right,” Reina said.

“Reina…” Ben started, voice wavering.

Ben tried to turn away, but Reina caught a dark feeling in his eyes. She knew he’d heard—or understood. Somehow.

“Are you okay?”

Reina shrugged the question off. “I’m fine. Just something that happened a long time ago. It’s not important.”

Ben caught her hand in his, but she pulled away. “Don’t touch me!”

Shocked, Ben stepped away.

Reina ran a hand through her hair. “I’m sorry. I—you didn’t do anything wrong. I just need a couple hours.”

“A—are you sure you don’t want to ta—,”

“No,” Reina snapped, and immediately felt awful. She didn’t look at Ben—just walked into the bedroom and crouched in the corner, unwilling to fall into bed and smell a man on her sheets.


	13. Soup?

She rarely missed work. 

She was an early bird, a dawn-riser. 

But today she stayed tucked into bed. When she’d finally siphoned up the courage to get under the sheets, she felt slightly better. Like the cocoon of warmth was protecting her, somehow.

Days like this for Reina weren’t unheard of. When she was diagnosed with depression at seventeen, a year before she became independent, Reina's foster parents had paid for her to begin taking medication. It helped. It got her out of bed, and into clothes, and, most importantly, helped her to enjoy the little things again.

But depression was always there, lurking in the corner like a spider that would occasionally mate with something—a memory, a trigger of some sort—and have babies, and the baby spiders would fill up the room and confine her to her bed.

It was noon, and Reina hadn’t slept again. She was staring at the ceiling when a light knock came from the door.

“Ben?”

She didn’t know why she asked—it wasn’t like anyone else was in the apartment. But she’d assumed he’d left.

“Yeah. Can I come in? I don’t want to talk.”

“Sure.”

The door swung open, and with it the strong odor of chicken noodle soup.

Ben was holding a tray, upon which sat her medication—the ones she’d forgone that morning—a bowl of steaming soup, and a tall plastic cup of—orange juice.

He looked down at the tray. “I saw you take this every morning. And I didn’t want you to forget it. The soup’s from your cupboard…and I’m pretty sure you have a thing for orange juice. Don’t you?” 

Ben’s head cocked to the side, and the side of Reina’s mouth lifted a little.

She nodded.

Ben brought the tray closer and set it next to her on the bed, careful not to touch her. Reina drank a spoonful of the soup, and started.

“This is really good.”

Ben blushed. “I—uh—added a few things from your pantry?”

“I thought you didn't cook."

“I used to. I thought I'd give it another shot.”

Reina smiled at him, endearingly crooked teeth obvious.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. So…would you rather I leave, or…?”

“No. You can stay.”

Ben glanced around the room. “Have any books?”

Reina frowned. “Why?”

“I could read to you. If you want. I used to take care of the kids next door, and I’d read to them with all these different voices—I haven’t done it in a while, so it might be shit, but—“

Reina smiled wider. “The books are over there.”

Ben walked over to the closet. The top shelf was full of books.

He chose Harry Potter. The first one.

Reina smiled. “Ever read it?”

Ben shook his head. “No, but I’ve heard good things.”

Reina tossed her head back. “Oh, you just wait.”


	14. Fog.

Reina blinked. The white ceiling stared back at her. She sat up.

Ben was snoring on the chair, leaning sideways, face squished up against the drywall. Reina bit her lip in a cheeky smile. He was wearing a grey sweatshirt and a pair of worn jeans. With sudden shock, she remembered today was the day of his interview for a job downstairs.

“Ben,” she said, sliding out of bed. She shook her shoulder gently. Blinking and wiping sleep from his eyes, Ben looked up at her. She giggled—his cheek had a big red imprint on it from the wall.

“What?”

She glanced at the clock on her nightstand.

“Your interview’s in an hour.”

Ben stood fast—and hit his head on the ceiling, the Harry Potter book sliding out of his arms. “An hour?”

“Yeah. It’s okay, Mr. Hale always late. And it’s just downstairs.”

“Right,” Ben said, “right.”

But he was shaking.

Reina resisted the urge to grab his wrist and hold on. She knew he couldn’t help it, knew he couldn’t help the tremors and the sweating and the headaches and the cravings—but she was beginning to find it hurt her, too.

“Breakfast?”

Ben nodded.

Reina’s kitchen was small, but there was a window above the sink, and in the morning the panels of light would slide across the glass and bathe the whole place in this sort of glow. 

Ben yawned as they stepped into the kitchen. Reina got herself a bowl of cereal, and Ben followed suit. They leaned up against the counter and ate in silence for a few minutes.

“Ben?”

“Yeah?”

“You do HAVE a last name, right?”

Ben yawned again. “Shaw.”

“Shaw,” Reina repeated. “Mine’s Contreras.”

Ben nodded. “Sounds…Hispanic.”

“It is." 

“So…were your parents born here?”

Reina shook her head. “Both of them were from Mexico, but they came up here to live with my aunt.”

“And where are they now?”

“Dead.”

Ben’s spoon clattered into his bowl. “I—,”

“It’s okay,” Reina said. “You don’t have to say sorry. Actually—I mean, it would be nice of you. But there’s nothing to be sorry about—you didn’t know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“My mom was with me longer than my dad was. They split up when I was little, and my dad ended up on the streets. He was an alcoholic. He died from alcohol poisoning. Mom was with me until I was twelve. We lived here…until she passed away. She was depressed.”

Ben seemed to be struggling for words. 

Reina looked away. 

“World’s a mess, isn’t it?”

Reina felt his arms around her for a second before he pulled away.

“C-can I?”

Reina nodded, and Ben pulled her into a hug from behind. His lips touched her ear, sending shivers down her spine and warm feelings to the pit of her stomach.

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.”

\--

The shower was meant for one person. Reina and Ben paid no heed.

The fog filled the mirror. Ben’s head was above the nozzle, and Reina found this hilarious. Giggling, she splashed him with water with her feet, arms around his neck. Ben’s shoulders were hunched in his usual somewhat-shy manner, creating a sort of cocoon for Reina’s body.

Reina inhaled the scent on his skin, ran her fingers through his dark locks, draining the well of safety and comfort inside him. She felt as if they were both starved for something the other had—dangerously so.

Ben’s hands were large and heavy on her hips, and when he lifted her onto him and her back hit the glass wall of the shower, oblivion passed in front of her eyelids.

It was then that she realized, for the first time in twelve years, she had something to lose.


	15. One Month Later

“You have an extra pair of footie pajamas, Rey?”

Reina grinned at the nickname. “I don’t know if they’ll fit you.”

Ben looked hesitant.

“Oh, come on,” Reina said. “They’re comfy!”

She gave him a slight push.

“Fine,” he said, and ducked into the bathroom.

Reina hopped up on her bed and booted up her shitty PC. It was the third night they’d watched a movie together, tucked up in her bed. But tonight was the first night she’d remembered she owned two pairs of footie pajamas. What a blessing, she thought.

At that very second, Ben stepped out of the bathroom, and Reina burst out laughing.

Ben frowned, giving her the puppy-eyed look she’d fallen for.

Dear god, was he cute.

“Get over here,” she said.

Ben raised an eyebrow and slowly took a step. Then he ran, jumped, and catapulted himself onto her bed. Reina yelped—the thing jolted and she bounced up a good foot and a half!

“BEN!”

Ben was laughing, his face sweet and strange and dimpled. Reina tucked herself under his shoulder. She could smell the cologne he’d just bought with his first paycheck. She’d thanked the gods above that he’d chosen this as a first purchase—it meant he could stop using hers and smelling like roses under his arms, which had become her favorite place to nuzzle.

The movie took a good ten minutes to start playing. Ben liked silence during movies—Reina liked to talk.

“What’s she holding?”

“Shh.”

“But—,”

“Shh.”

“He’s got to—,”

“Rey, SHUT UP.”

At this, she’d pinch him, and he’d pinch her back, and they’d usually end up in a laughing fit above the blankets. The night before, when they’d lain there, breathing hard after fits of laughing, Ben had looked at her. Just looked. For a really long time.

And Reina didn’t say anything, because she didn't need to. She just kissed him, and he understood.

Tonight the movie was Star Wars: A New Hope.

Both had seen it, but years ago. Ben couldn’t remember who the main character’s name was, but he remembered Han Solo, the space pirate. Reina liked the princess. Leia was the most badass princess she’d ever heard of.

“I think they fall in love,” Reina said.

“Oh, yeah,” Ben said. “They’re a good couple.”

Reina shoved him. “You don’t even remember any of it!”

Ben shoved her back. “Why are you always shoving me?”

“Because I can.”

“That’s not an answer.”

The movie went on, but neither of them paid attention.

Ben threw his leg over Reina, straddling her, but Reina couldn’t help but giggle at the onesie.

Ben reached down to her sides.

“Oh, no, you—BEN!”

Reina screeched as Ben began to tickle her. He’d learned this by accident, too—he’d accidentally woken her up one night by brushing her side with his fingers.

“The movie, Ben, the movie! I wanna see it!”

Ben rolled back over onto his side of the bed, and Reina swung a leg over his, making sure they were touching. Ben pulled the laptop closer.

Reina suddenly frowned. “I think I heard someone knock on the door,” she said.

“Probably just in the movie,” Ben muttered, now intently watching Obi-Wan Kenobi argue with Han at a bar table.

“No, I definitely heard it,” Reina said, and made to get up, but Ben grabbed her arm.

“Don’t get it. Forget it.”

“I have to get it, Ben.”

Ben groaned and let her go. Shaking her head and smiling, Reina left the room and went through the kitchen to the front door. She peered through the peephole. It was a woman, maybe sixty with greying brown hair, who she’d never seen before.

She opened the door.

“Hi. Is there anything I can do for you?”

The woman shook her head. “Is Ben here?”


	16. Tainted.

Shocked, Reina stepped back into the apartment. “How do you know Ben?”

But Reina had a feeling she already knew.

The woman had deep brown eyes and an intense, sad stare.

Her voice was deep when she said,

“I’m his mother.”

A chill ran down Reina’s spine. She found herself suddenly unable to speak.

The woman—Ben’s mother—stared at her.

“Leah,” she said, and held out a hand.

Reina reached out a hand and let the older woman take her fingers in her hand.

“I’m Reina. Ben’s—Ben?”

“Reina? What is it?” Ben’s voice called from inside the apartment. Reina felt his shadow as he appeared behind her, and suddenly stopped.

“Leah.”

He didn’t say ‘mom.’

Leah’s expression conveyed an emotion somewhere between impressed and astonished, between surprise and doubt. And there was a raised eyebrow—no doubt for the footie pajamas. Reina blushed.

“May I come in, Reina?”

Reina nodded, and Leah stepped into the apartment, closing the door behind her. She glanced around the place protectively, surveying like an animal stalking its prey.

“I heard from the local shelter. They said you’d moved out, so I dug through the city’s trash and found your ‘bridge’,” she said ‘bridge’ as one would say ‘outhouse’, “They said you’d gone to live with some girl named Reina. Wasn’t too hard to find you.”

Leah took the liberty of sitting herself down on the couch.

Ben was standing on the offensive, his body generating anger even through the footie pajamas.

“Why are you here?”

“Your dad’s dead, Ben.”

Ben sunk into a chair. 

Reina’s mouth went loose with shock. Now? Leah had decided to come here and tell her son now, and in front of a complete stranger?

Ben didn’t react after sinking into the chair. His face showed no emotion; he stared blankly at the wall.

Reina started to back into the kitchen, but Ben barked, “No. Stay.”

“Stay PLEASE,” Leah responded automatically, as if in reflex.

“Stay, please.”

Ben’s voice was dull, emotionless, as if this process between the two of them had been repeated so many times it had lost its meaning.

Reina stayed.

“How?” Ben finally asked.

Leah looked out the window to the street below. 

“It was the cancer.” Ben said sullenly; not asking.

Leah nodded, her head moving the tiniest of centimeters.

“Came back a year ago. Spread from the lungs, just like last time…it was over before it started,” Leah said, voice calm but somehow exploding with pain.

“I’m sorry,” Reina interjected, and Leah bit back, “Don’t apologize.”

Reina closed her mouth. How strange, the Shaws were. How utterly strange, and sad, and puppy-eyed, both of them. She suddenly wondered if Ben had a sister or a brother. He’d never told her of one—but then, he’d never mentioned his mother either.

“The funeral is on Saturday,” Leah said.

Ben nodded. “Where?”

“Where else?” Leah said, glancing out the window again. “Here. He wanted to be buried here, where he grew up.”

“Is Uncle Lucas coming?”

Leah nodded.

Ben seemed to awake from a deep sleep after hearing this.

“I don’t want him there. He deserted us.”

“He’s my brother, Benjamin. He’s coming.”

Ben slumped against the wall, looking very much like a chastised fourth-grader.

“D-do you want dinner, Ms. Shaw?”

Leah glanced up at Reina, as if she had forgotten her presence, and the first warmth Reina had seen from Ben’s mother blossomed on her face.

“If you have enough for another.”

“I have a job, now, Leah,” Ben interjected, in the style of a ten-year-old looking for parental praise.

“Good,” Leah said. 

Reina went into the kitchen, assuming the two had something to work out, but Ben followed.

“This doesn’t change anything, you know,” he said.

“Change anything? Change--? Your father is dead, Ben!” Reina half-shouted, half whispered.

Ben stepped back. “I just meant—my mother back—I’m not leaving you.”

“I damn well hope not. I need your rent.”

A crack of a smile showed on Ben’s face, but was quickly extinguished.

“Can I help you with dinner?”

Reina sighed. “If you’re helping, it’s gonna be pasta, isn’t it?”

“I’m sorry. I only know pasta.”

Reina sighed again, half mocking him, since all the dinner-appropriate food she currently had were spaghetti noodles and sauce. “It’ll have to do.”


	17. Dinner with the Shaw-Organas

Dinner with the Shaws wasn’t quite what she expected. Leah was a talker. Reina didn’t know if this was just in grief, or if she was a natural chatterbox. As usual, as a naturally curious and mildly unskilled in the area of impulse-control, she finally burst, “Excuse me—Mrs. Shaw?”

“Call me Leah, hon.”

“Sorry—Leah. I was just wondering—how come you didn’t call? Before, uh…before showing up here?”

Leah stared, wide-eyed. “Huh,” she said, and let out a tiny laugh, seemingly at herself. “I could have called, I guess. Must have slipped my mind.”

Reina gave her a well-meaning shrug.

Ben had eaten every last noodle and speck of sauce in his paper bowl.

Reina was used to this habit of his, because it was something she’d found they shared. A liking for cleaning plates. In Ben’s case, however, it wasn’t so much a liking as an old habit dying hard.

Not that she had money for wasting food, anyway.

Reina was hesitant to ask Leah anything about money, about Ben, about why the family had separated. She didn’t even know if Leah was homeless, or if she had a house or an apartment—or where she’d come from.

She figured this was the best of the options.

“I was wondering, too…if you don’t mind…where it is you live?”

Ben spoke up. “Austin.” 

“ _Texas_?”

“Austin, Minnesota.”

“Oh.”

Leah glanced between the two of them.

“So, you two are...together? Or just sleeping together?"

Ben spluttered, “Mom!”

Reina’s mouth opened in surprised amusement. She turned to Ben and raised an eyebrow.

Ben buried his burning face in his hands.

Leah sighed. “It's obvious. I was just telling you what I'd guessed. I don't know why people get so bothered by that.”

“Because it’s rude, Leah.”

Leah laughed. “Says the man who asked his black sixth-grade teacher why he was so dirty.”

Reina’s mouth dropped open.

Ben stared at the wall and muttered, annoyed, “It was a really small town. Everyone I'd ever met was white. ”

“So.” Leah said, clapping her hands together. “You’re a couple. That’s great. Reina, I think you need to know—this man has never before been in a real relationship. To my knowledge.”

Ben’s arms were crossed, and he was staring at his shoes. “I hate you,” he muttered.

“Love you, too, Ben,” Leah said passive-aggressively. She turned to Reina and raised an eyebrow. “Well. At least he didn’t scream and run from the room.”

At this, Ben stood up, his chair falling on the tile, and stomped into the bedroom, slamming the door.

Leah was smiling, and, Reina noticed, wiping her eyes.

“I’ve missed him.” Leah said quietly, and turned to look at her. “How has he been doing? You don’t seem like a junkie. Or someone who’d be in a relationship with one.”

Reina shook her head slowly. “He’s clean. For now.”

Leah shook her head in disbelief. “Two years of rehab, and you’re the only one who can get him off the shit.”

Reina felt her cheeks color and frowned at her, indignant. “It’s not like that. He really wants to get better.”

Leah nodded to her. “Exactly.”


	18. That much stronger.

When Leah finally left, Reina fell onto the couch. “Ben.”

“Yeah?”

“Are any other family members of yours going to show up unexpectedly at my door?”

Ben didn’t smile. He leaned up against the wall. “Probably not,” he said, and glanced toward the window. “Sorry about my mom.”

“It’s fine. I liked her.”

Ben sighed. “You did?”

“I did,” Reina said, and then paused. “Were you close? You and your dad?”

Ben bit his lip and looked away. “Not…really.”

Reina nodded.

Ben wasn’t looking at her.

“I just want you to know,” she started, “that you can talk to me. Because I get it. And you can also not talk to me. That’s fine, too. I won’t be hurt.”

Ben glanced at her for barely a second, and she saw his eyes glistening before he turned away again.

“I’m going to stay on the couch tonight. I just…need some time.”

Reina nodded. “Of course. Do—do you want my bed? I can take the couch. Really.”

Ben looked at her indignantly. “Don’t be stupid.”

Reina cracked a tiny smile. She stood up from the couch. “I’ll get the blankets.”

When Ben had finished in the bathroom and headed into the living room, Reina went in. She stared at herself in the mirror, lifting her toothbrush—then setting it down again, next to Ben’s.

She could see the twelve-year-old’s face—the terrified, so so so scared face—of the girl she’d been when her Lilia Contreras died. Her school counselor had told her. He’d brought her to the bathroom door, told her to go in there if she needed a cry. At the time, she found this horrific and mean and cruel and rude, but now she understood. Someone else’s grief was difficult to touch, to feel, to understand—even if you owned some of your own.

She could see that girl’s face there, in her own, but her twenty-two-year-old face was much, much stronger. Wiser. And yes—somewhat harder.

She wished that goddamn counselor hadn’t brought her to that shitty school bathroom to cry.

She splashed water on her face, across her freckles, dampness reaching the roots of her hair. It helped. She felt fresher, cleaner. She went into the bedroom, and there was Ben, arms curled around his knees, silent silent silent. Reina climbed into bed and hugged him from behind, wrapping her legs around his waist and pulling him tight to her. His body shook, just slightly at first, and then harder. His sobs started and didn’t stop for a long time.


	19. An attempt at humor.

Reina awoke first, because someone’s phone was ringing. What was that? Was it _her_ phone?

Groggily, she sat up, and Ben’s heavy arm fell from her side. She turned over to look at him. His hair was splayed across his forehead in this sublimely beautiful sort of way. She reached out to his cheek, graced the pads of her fingers across his skin. He was so beautiful.

Almost falling out of bed, Reina swore loudly as her toe smashed into the nightstand. She picked up the phone.

“Hello?”

“You sound sleepy, babe,” said a man’s voice.

“I’m sorry,” Reina said before she could help herself. “Who is this?”

“Oh, sorry. It’s Lucas, Lucas Sky? I’m Benjamin’s uncle.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry—is this Reina? Reina, Ben’s lover?”

Reina coughed loudly. Lover? “Who the hell—?”

“Leah gave me your cell phone number. I’m trying to contact my nephew, Benjamin Shaw.”

Ah. Now Reina remembered Ben’s less-than-stellar reaction to the mention of his uncle when his mother showed up.

“He’s asleep right now, sorry.”

“Oh! Well, good for him. Real healthy, that is.”

“Yeah,” Reina said dumbly.

“Well, I’ll just call back later! Peace, Reina!”

Reina shook her head. “Peace?”

The line went dead.

Setting down the phone, Reina climbed back onto the bed. She thought a second about waking him up, but rethought it. She got up and made pancakes—missing the oil, but whatever. They tasted fine.

She munched on a pancake, pouring syrup into it and folding it like a taco. She pushed the door open with her elbow. Ben was still snoring.

She climbed onto the bed and set the plate down. She grabbed her laptop and turned on The Little Mermaid. A good movie to get him mind off things, she thought.

She nudged him gently, but Ben still snored. She rubbed his ear, his cheek, his neck with her knuckles. Ben’s eyes fluttered. Reina bent down and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“I smell…something,” he muttered, hot breath on her cheek.

“Pancakes,” she said, ignoring the horrible smell of post-sleep breath. “We’re gonna watch a movie. Sit up, babe.”

Ben pushed himself up against the backboard of the bed and Reina handed him the plate stacked with pancakes. He took one, and in the manner of Reina herself, poured maple syrup onto it and folded it like a taco. He made a noise that Reina took to mean he appreciated the taco-cakes.

She pulled the laptop onto their laps and started the movie.

Two movies and some coffee later, Reina decided she’d tell him. Head tucked under Ben’s arm and nestled into his chest, as was the norm, Reina gave his stomach a light poke.

“Ben?”

“Yeah, hon?”

Hon. It had to be genetic.

“Your uncle called this morning. He just wanted to talk to you, I think.”

Ben let out a big sigh.

“How’d he—oh. My mother.” He groaned.

“It’s okay. I just…if you want to tell me, I was just wondering why you hate him so much.”

“I don’t hate him.”

Reina raised an eyebrow.

“I…strongly dislike him.”

“How come?”

Ben’s cheek quirked into a dimple. “You’re so curious.”

“Seriously, how come?”

Ben curled his arm around her neck in a mock headlock. “You’ll get it when you meet him.”

Muffled from the skin on his arm, Reina said, “Where does he live?”

“California.”

“Huh. Wow. It’s warmer there,” Reina mused distractedly.

“Everyone’s also snobbier, heads stuck up their asses.”

“Ben!”

Ben just shrugged.

“Hey.” Reina said. “It’s three. Let’s go get that new mattress, shall we?”

Ben slipped his fingers in between hers. “Let’s.”

~~~

They walked to the mall, gloved hand in gloved hand, scarves wrapped around their necks, cheeks pink with the cold. It was snowing lightly. The mall was light up beautifully for Christmas, which arrived in two short weeks.

Reina pressed her gloved hands to her nose and cheeks to warm herself up. Ben swung the door to the mall open wide for her and she walked in under his arm.

“Haven’t been to a mall since...since a long time ago.” 

“I don’t come here a lot, either,” Reina said. “It’s so gorgeous for Christmas, though.”

“My dad hated Christmas," Ben said. Almost as an afterthought, he laughed.

“Why?” Reina asked, genuinely curious.

Ben shrugged his large shoulders as they headed into the mattress store. “He didn’t like most holidays,” he said. “Lots of people think holidays are too corporate now. That’s what he thought.”

Reina nodded, but smiled at him. “But you like Christmas, don’t you?”

Ben gave her a little shove. “Depends.”

“You’ll like it this year.”

The clerk, a thin, red-haired man smiled at them. “You two looking for a mattress, I take it.”

“No, we were looking for you,” Ben quipped.

Reina raised her eyebrows. Ben coughed.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Bad…joke.”

The man raised his eyebrows. “Well, uh…what size?”

Reina was trying so hard not to giggle over Ben’s attempt at a joke that she could barely choke out, “A queen.”

Ben was fuming as the clerk turned away.

"Why're you laughing?"

Reina finally burst out in laughter.

"Hey," Ben said. "Cut it out. It's not funny."

But Reina wouldn't stop. Finally, Ben cracked a smile.

The man turned back toward them, and raised his eyebrows expectantly. Ben gave Reina a shove toward him, because she was still half bent-over laughing.


	20. Fatso

It was this cat. This cat was going to be the death of her.

“We can’t afford a cat,” Reina’s brain had said, but her heart was completely on the other side of the equation.

Ben picked up the little orange-and-white thing. It was so small, and he was so big that Reina almost swooned.

Somewhere between buying the mattress and bringing it out to the car, they’d gotten distracted by a fluffy orange face in a pet shop window. And while Reina admitted she’d fallen first, it was Ben who really drove the thing home.

“I had a cat when I was little,” he said, startling Reina with the rare mention of his past. “He liked chewing gum. He’d dig it out of garbage cans and stuff and get it stuck in his teeth, so we called him Chewie.”

Reina stared at the cat in Ben’s arms and knew it was all over.

“Well…if the landlord says it’s fine…I guess…”

Ben buried his face in its fur, and Reina almost shed a tear from sheer cuteness. She was sure if Ben knew how adorable he looked in this exact moment he’d have set down the cat immediately with a scowl.

“Can we take it home today?” Ben’s muffled voice asked.

Reina stared at him, shaking her head slowly.

Ben raised an eyebrow.

Reina stopped shaking her head.

Ben lifted up the cat like it was Simba from The Lion King and he was Rafiki.

Reina dialed the landlord’s number.

~~~

She had a cat.

She owned a cat.

Reina could hardly believe this was she, in this apartment, with big-tall-sulky-sweet Ben and sunshine coming in through the windows and a little ginger cat.

Was this really her life?

They had two shifts downstairs together, and since the shop was rarely ever occupied by any customers, they spent the time behind the counter cuddling the kitten, who Ben had taken to calling ‘Fatso.’

Reina was not fond of this name. She called him Cat.

Fatso loved Ben more than he loved her.

Somehow, Reina didn't mind.


	21. Saturday.

"DON’T WANNA BE AN AMERICAN IDIOT.  
DON’T WANT A BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH."

Rey groaned and pulled the pillow over her head.

"AND CAN YOU HEAR THE SOUND OF HYSTERIA?  
THE SUBLIMINAL MINDF*CK AMERICA!"

Rey threw herself out of the bed and swung the door open, traipsing into the kitchen where Ben stood at the stove, frying some eggs with Green Day blaring from the dusty old boom box on the counter.

Ben whirled around, head banging wildly. His black hair flew around his head uncontrollably.

“Ben, what the HELL?”

Ben didn’t listen. Instead, he grabbed Rey’s hands and pumped them back and forward to the beat, jumping up and down.

“BEN!”

Ben yelled over the music, sweat dripping off his brow, “THIS IS HOW I’M COPING! WELCOME TO A NEW KIND OF TENSION! ALL ACROSS THE ALIEN NATION! WHERE EVERYTHING ISN’T MEANT TO BE OKAY!”

Dumbfounded and somewhat amused, Reina started to bounce along with him.

It was Saturday, the day of Ben’s dad’s funeral. Harold Shaw’s service was to be held at the Trinity Church in downtown. Reina had been apprehensive for the last few days around Ben, nervous that a change of temperament might take place, but he’d been acting surprisingly normal. Well, normal for Ben.

Fatso crawled into the kitchen mewling loudly. Ben picked him up and spun in circles.

“Don’t crush him,” Reina advised, and stepped to the stove where Ben had let the eggs alone. She shoved them around in the pan with the spatula.

Reina’d been to two funerals. She remembered walking numbly into the church or reception hall, sitting, hands clasped, staring at the wall. She remembered not being able to listen to anything anyone was saying. She remembered isolating herself the week prior to the services, hiding in a closet.

This was different. Now she wasn’t numb—she was full of nerves.

She’d talked to Ben’s mother once more, who’d told her it would be a ‘small service’. Not many people knew Harold, she said. Leah herself had never known his family.

So Reina had invited a handful of people. Well, maybe two handfuls. She’d invited everyone she knew—Isabelle from work, and even Mr. Hayle, the manager. The red-haired man from the mattress shop, and a few others. She’d promised donuts.

She’d told Ben this, but he’d been half-asleep at the time, so she wasn’t sure he’d heard her, which made her a little nervous. She didn’t want to mention again, because Ben hadn’t seemed keen to talk about anything surrounding his father’s death or the funeral.

Which, again, concerned Reina. But what did she knew about this kind of thing? People dealt with grief differently.

Tantrums and depressive episodes were her way. Green Day and denial were Ben’s, apparently. Neither, she thought, could be healthy, but this was the way it was.

They finished breakfast and got dressed. Ben wore a suit Leah had brought for him. She was staying in a hotel across the street. Reina wore a short black dress and stockings. She’d found an even warmer coat for Ben downstairs, and they’d pooled some money for it. They set out into the cold at nine-thirty.

The church was beautiful. Adornments for Christmas, no matter how inappropriate for the occasion they may have been, made Reina’s chest warm. It had been a long time since she’d been in a church, and the sheer size of the place had her in a state of wonder.

Ben’s hand clasped in hers, they sat down in the first row, which had a small post-it stuck on it. FAMILY ONLY, it said.

The casket was there, at the head of the hall, but Ben didn’t go up.

“Hello, hon. Hi, Reina, dear,” a soft voice from behind said. Leah slipped into the pew beside Ben and patted his knee. “How’re you doing, Ben?”

“Fine.”

Enough people filed in to fill up four rows on both sides. Nearly all of Reina’s invitees had showed, and Reina felt a deep gratitude toward Isabelle, who smiled at her from two rows back.

The pastor—or priest, Reina didn’t know—stood up at the pulpit and looked out at all of them.

“We are gathered here today to remember Harold G. Shaw. While I did not know him personally, I have come to know that he was a fantastically brave, generous, and true-hearted individual—with somewhat of a talent for trouble.”

There were a few laughs.

The man went on, and Reina’s head swam through countless visions of a man who looked like Ben, but with lighter hair and a stockier build, as Leah had previously described him. Two previous friends of Harold’s stood and told stories, stories that made the group laugh. Ben smiled lightly.

And then, all of a sudden, the pastor spoke into the microphone, “Benjamin Shaw, Harold’s son.”

Ben stood. Reina, shocked, unaware that Ben had planned to speak, just stared.

Ben walked up to the pulpit. He was a good two feet taller than the pastor…priest…clergyman.

Ben leaned on the pulpit and clasped his hands together in front of him, as of casually addressing a group of first-graders.

“I wasn’t close to my dad,” he said, voice deep. Reina sat on her hands nervously, but somewhat comfortably, somewhat peacefully. Ben’s voice rang through the church.

“He wasn’t a dad-type. He was...different. He tossed me into the lake when I was three, and then jumped in after me. That’s how he taught me to swim. There was no half-assing anything with him. If he was going to do something, he was going to do it all the way.”

Reina found herself mesmerized by Ben’s stories of his father. She wondered how things would have been if her father had been in her life longer. Usually, when she found herself ambling down this train of thought, she stopped herself before she got too far. But not today.

When Ben’s voice cracked for the first time, he looked to her, and she nodded encouragingly. It’s okay. It’s okay to cry, she tried to tell him through her expression.

His speech was over faster than she realized and he was back beside her in the pew. She grasped his hand and ran the pad of her thumb over the back of his gently. Ben’s breathing was shallow. Reina pressed herself a little closer, but that was when Ben leaned over and rested his head on her shoulder.

Reina could feel a tear, two or three, maybe, leaking from the sides of her eyes. Carefully, she reached up and cupped his chin in her palm, stroking his cheek with one finger. It was wet with tears.

“I love you, Ben,” she whispered.

“I love you, too,” came Ben’s rough, muted voice.


	22. Let's do it.

The reception was in the basement of the church, which was tiny, but also bedecked with Christmas decorations. Brunch was being served, and the whole place smelled like coffee. Reina found this strangely comforting. She sat at a circular table, sipping coffee. Isabelle spotted her and sat down. 

“Beautiful service,” Isabelle said, and gave her a dimpled grin.

Reina nodded. "Unique."

Isabelle took a bite of the macaroni casserole. 

“Thank you for coming,” Reina said.

Isabelle nodded, smiling gently at her. “I like Ben. He seems like a good guy.”

“He is,” Reina said, pride swelling in her chest.

“How long has it been?”

“About two months.” 

As soon as the words left her mouth, Reina started. It felt like a year, maybe two. How could it be that she’d only known Ben for two and a half months? 

Reina suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder and turned. It was a man she'd never seen, tall and thin, with blond hair and a beard. He wore light jeans and a thin leather coat and had deep blue eyes.

“Reina, isn’t it?” 

His voice sounded familiar. Reina nodded and held out a hand.

“Lucas Sky,” the man said, and shook her hand. And kept shaking it. And kept shaking it. Reina finally had to pull her hand away.

Oh, boy. This was the infamous uncle.

“Ben’s lo—,”

“—roommate.” Reina finished, unwilling to repeat their phone conversation in front of Isabelle, who’d turned to talk to the other man at the table.

“So, Mr. Sky…you knew Harold well?” Reina asked, trying to make quick conversation and get straight to the point. She knew that if he stayed long at her table, Ben wouldn’t go near it.

To her dismay, Lucas sat down in the empty seat on her other side.

“Call me Lucas, hon,” he said. “Yes, I knew Harold. Before I moved to California, we were the best of friends. He was a beautiful person.”

Reina took a sip of her coffee.

Lucas crossed his legs. “We met when…I was in a bad place. Harold was a bit of a prickly individual back then…” he laughed, “But so was I, and we hit it off. We were a bit of a dynamic trio, the two of us and Leah. And then they got married, and had Ben. Wow, I love that kid. Well, he’s not a kid anymore, is he?”

Reina shook her head.

“Uncle Lucas, you’ve met my girlfriend, Reina?”

Reina spun around—there was Ben, looking down at Lucas. She felt a warmth blossom in her chest at the word ‘girlfriend’. She’d never heard him call her that before. She’d never heard anyone call her that before. On top of that, she was shocked that he’d taken initiative and come to talk to his uncle.

“Yes, I have. She’s a lovely babe, Benjamin.”

Ben cleared his throat. “Leah’d like to speak with you, Luke.”

Lucas nodded and stood up. “Good to meet you, Reina, hon.”

“Good to meet you, too, Mr. Sky.”

Ben coughed loudly in an obvious attempt to smother a laugh and sat down in Lucas’ seat. He leaned forward and gave Reina a light kiss on the cheek.

“His name’s not Sky. It’s Organa, like Leah’s.”

Reina bit her lip to keep from smiling. “He’s pretty…cosmic.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Don’t. Say. It.”

“He’s a hippy.”

Ben groaned loudly.

Reina gave him a tiny push. She giggled.

“He called me a lovely babe,” she said, still giggling.

Ben bent his head, clearly blushing, and lifted a cup of water to his lips. “Let’s stop talking about Luke now.”

“Don’t you mean Lucas?” Reina said jokingly.

Ben pretended not to hear, instead grabbing her coffee and taking a sip.

“I liked him,” Reina said, taking the cup back. 

“Well, great,” Ben said, “Because he’s staying through New Years’ with Leah.”

“What?”

Ben sighed a big sigh. “They’re staying in the Hilton across the street from your apartment for another three—,”

“Our apartment.”

“—our apartment—for three more weeks.”

Reina put her head in her palm, elbow resting on the table, and smiled up at him.

“Let’s have Christmas with them.”

Ben spat out water into his cup. “Excuse me?”

“Let’s have Christmas with them!” Reina said. “It’ll be great.”

Ben shook his head. “There are so many things wrong with that idea, I can’t even list them all.”

“Go for it,” Reina said, crossing her arms.

“Okay. For one, your apartment—,”

“Our apartment.”

“Our apartment is tiny. Two, we have a cat, and Leah’s allergic. Three, neither of us can cook.” When Reina opened her mouth to object, he amended, “Well, neither of us can good anything good.” 

“Please, Ben…please?”

Ben groaned. “Hey, quit it with the pleases.”

“Please, Ben? If you say no, I’m inviting them anyway, okay?”

Ben sighed. “Alright. Yes. We’ll do it.”

Reina held up a hand.

Ben raised an eyebrow.

“It’s a high-five, Ben.”

He slapped her hand, blushing.


	23. Golden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -note: this chapter has a touch to smut! just so ya know-

Ben reminded her of a nervous rabbit. He spent the afternoon jumping around the apartment, arranging and rearranging and re-rearranging everything, down to the angles of the toothbrushes sitting on the bathroom counter. Meticulous didn’t even begin to describe him—it was more akin to symptoms of OCD.

It was December the twenty-fourth, and it had been two months and three days since Ben had last used cocaine. Reina’s worries were fast-fading. It gave her a warm feeling thinking about it, especially when Ben came upstairs from work and gently pushed a plastic bag into her hands.

“I brought the cigarettes,” he’d said. Her mom’s brand.

Rather than opening them himself, he’d handed them to her, and she’d lit one and set it in front of the fan. It felt wrong to smoke them, but just right to let the apartment smell like them. 

Ben didn’t mind, and Reina hid the smokes in an empty can of cookies. Ben’s self-control was blossoming, but she didn’t want to test him.

She awoke alone in her bed that morning, and stepped curiously into the kitchen, where she and Ben had spent until three the last evening cooking for Christmas Eve.

Ben was leaning against the counter, head bent a little due to the ceiling’s Reina-appropriate-height and staring at his watch. He was barefoot, but wore a t-shirt, boxers, and an apron. He ran a hand through his hair.

“You need a shave,” Reina said, smiling and walking up to him. She brushed a palm against the stubble on his chin.

Ben closed his eyes at her touch. “Smell the cookies?”

Reina snorted. “Yeah. They’re stinking up the whole place. We already made three batches last night, Ben.”

“And you ate through at least one and a half of them.”

Reina pressed her lips sloppily to his and muttered, “Details, details…”

“You did,” Ben said indignantly, but Reina wrapped her arms around him, and he gave in, pulling her to his chest. His skin was warm and welcoming, and Reina felt as if she was hugging him for the first time. He pressed his lips to the soft skin of the base of her neck, and Reina gasped inadvertently.

She felt warmth growing in her abdomen, and tried to ignore it, but Ben was pressing kiss after kiss to her neck, either unaware of her arousal or just teasing her. Reina pulled slightly at his hair with her fists, and he growled into her neck.

Definitely teasing.

Reina pulled his head back, and their lips met. Deep and animalistic and unrestrained, their kisses went from lips to tongues to insides of cheeks and then necks and then Reina’s tank top was gone. Ben shoved her harshly back into the oven, and Reina moaned as he jabbed his leg in between her thighs. The friction was almost too much. Reina tugged his hand down, shoving it into her pants, and he obliged. He pressed his pointer and third finger up inside her and pressed his thumb to her clit. His touch inside her was so harsh, and outside so gentle, that it took Reina no time at all to reach plateau. 

And then Ben licked the side of her neck, and she came at once, clamping down on his fingers. Going limp in his arms, Reina whimpered.

“Good?”

“Really good,” she assented, and didn’t need the hardness pressing against her thigh to tempt her into returning the favor.

 

Reina would remember this Christmas Eve in smells.

The smell of the brown sugar sweet potatoes, the Swedish meatballs, the mashed potatoes, and all of those damn cookies Ben insisted on baking. The smell of those stupid Glade candles that turned out to actually smell pretty nice, and the smell of Leah’s perfume. There were sounds, too, though: Leah’s Fatso-induced sneezes, Christmas jazz, and then, Ben’s singing.

She’d heard him humming before, and also caterwauling before the stove while making macaroni n’ cheese, but never like this. Sweet and low and dark and gorgeous, and when she tried to sing along, she felt like a bird trying to chirp along with a blue whale.

He didn’t sing loud; only loud enough for her to hear when they were sat side-by-side, slightly tipsy after the champagne Leah had brought. He didn’t sing Christmas songs, which made her want to laugh. He sang Disney. This, too, induced giggles, and with the champagne, Reina was barely able to hold herself back from teary laughter.

Leah and Lucas had dressed up. Luke wore the strangest outfit Reina had ever seen. It resembled a full-body ugly Christmas sweater. Leah looked gorgeous and younger than she’d ever seen her, with a green dress, big earrings, straightened hair, and winged, retro glasses. Reina couldn’t help but admire her spunk. It was no wonder; Leah, as she’d told Reina, had grown up in New York City.

Fatso, to Reina’s dismay, spent the entire evening curled up on Leah’s lap. As luck would have it, clearly. Leah’s sneezes almost drowned out the music, but she petted the tiny cat quite lovingly anyway.

All too soon, it was two in the morning, and Lucas and Leah were heading out the door. Lucas kissed Reina on the cheek (the champagne, clearly) and Leah pulled her into a full-bodied embrace. 

“I like you,” Leah said. “Stick to my boy like glue, girly.”

“Will do, Leah.”

When the door closed, Ben, blushing, held up a hand in the universal gesture for ‘stop.’

Reina stopped. “What, Ben?”

“Shut your eyes.”

Reina raised en eyebrow. “But—?”

Ben reached out and held a large hand over her eyes. “Closed.”

Reina closed her eyes. She head heavy footsteps walking away, then pausing, and then coming back.

“Open,” said Ben’s voice.

She opened them.

He was holding a dress.

A dress.

Reina reached a hand out to touch the shimmery golden material.

She’d never owned a dress like this before. Never. 

“It’s…how?”

Ben bit his lip. “It’s for Friday,” he said.

“What’s Friday?”

He held up two small slips of paper. Reina took them and read the scripted writing.

BEAUTY AND THE BEAST  
GUTHRIE THEATER  
FRI, DEC 27

Reina gasped. “How—how did you—?”

Ben smiled bashfully. “I’ve been working. You know that.”

“No, I mean—I got you a suit!”

“What?” Ben said, astounded.

“I got you a suit,” Reina said, now full-on grinning. “This is perfect! I got you a suit because I really, really wanted to see you in a suit—and also because, you know, all your clothes are…well…you know.”

“Trash,” Ben supplied seriously.

“Right,” Reina repeated, “Trash.”

And both began to laugh.


	24. Black eye.

December the twenty-seventh.

Reina had five hours of work in the shop, and then another two at the tiny grocery store on the corner. She climbed out of bed in the morning, out from under Ben’s arm, feet hitting the chilly floor. She showered and got dressed. She put her hair into two little buns on either side of her head. She grabbed her heavily-buttoned lanyard and vest, and went downstairs.

The hours were dull. In all honesty, Reina hated work in the shop, but she could never admit it out loud. This was where she and her mother had worked and lived for most of Reina’s life. And just like the smell of cigarettes, Reina couldn’t let it go. 

The manager, Mr. Hayle, was trash—and in the worst sense of the word. He was a perverted asshole, always giving her and her co-worker, Isabelle, looks of disgusting, horrible hunger.

Reina was used to it.

She’d lived in the bad part of town her whole life, and a little perversion didn’t scare her. Actually, a lot of perversion didn’t scare her. Men hadn’t ever scared her. Before Ben, that is, but she’d gotten over that.

And then Ben, however, didn’t seem to understand that when Reina told him she could handle it, that she actually could handle it. Trying to keep from taking this as an insult, Reina had let him rant about Mr. Hayle, even allowing him to kick her dresser sometimes in anger—she never would have under any other circumstances let a person kick her dresser, but she thought it was good for his self-control.

But after Ben had received the news of his Dad’s death, and despite the constant stream of Green Day and Nirvana coming from the stereo in the kitchen, Reina had noticed his acting darker and darker whenever the topic of Mr. Hayle came up in conversation.

“He’s a bastard,” Ben had remarked one evening as he and Reina walked along the sidewalk to the little Mexican grocery store. He’d taken to tacos—real ones, mind you, not the ones with cheese and all that nonsense—and Reina couldn’t have been more pleased about it.

“The world’s full of them,” Reina replied. “Just ignore their bullshit.”

As if Ben didn’t know this. Reina knew he did, but somehow, he seemed to keep hoping that one day he’d wake up, and the world would suddenly be utopia, with socialism and free caramel double-chocolate mochaccinos (Yes—Ben actually liked these infernal concoctions) and not a self-righteous perverted bastard in sight.

Reina both loved and was incredibly annoyed with this facet of Ben’s being.

“You and—what’s her name?”

“Isabelle.”

“Isabelle. You two shouldn’t have to deal with this. It’s not safe.”

Reina rolled her eyes. “Thanks for the concern, Ben, but I think I can handle myself.”

Ben didn’t seem to be listening. “He’s never touched you before, has he?”

Reina reddened. “Can we not talk about this?”

Ben looked at her, eyes wide. “He did? I’m going to knock his—,”

“You can’t. He’s your manager, too.”

“Reina, has he?”

“No,” Reina lied through gritted teeth.

Ben breathed a shallow sigh, but his face stayed dark and contorted.

Reina knew this increased anger toward Mr. Hayle (And the garbage can, and the toaster, and the mounting number of frozen pizzas he burned) had something to do with Harold Shaw’s death, but she didn’t know what to do about it.

But then, on December the twenty-seventh, it all came crashing through.

Reina had that damned five-hour shift. Ben’s overlapped with hers by about fifteen minutes. Reina was just emptying the cash drawer into the safe when from behind her, a voice said,

“Hey, hon.”

This was not a friendly ‘hun’.

“Mr. Hayle,” Reina acknowledged. 

Keeping her eyes trained on the ground, Reina turned, cash drawer in her hands, and walked past Hayle into the back room. To her slight annoyance, he followed.

He’d been drinking—she could tell the second he stepped in there with her. She knew it well, and was thoroughly disgusted by it. She sucked in a breath and held it, just wanting to get back up to the apartment with its welcoming smell of oatmeal and Ben’s arms and little Fatso’s hair on everything.

And then he did it—he touched her.

It wasn’t something big, but Reina jolted. He’d pinched her.

Disgusted, Reina turned around—to see now only Hayle, and his somewhat hungry-somewhat sorry face, but Ben, towering, eyes flashing dark, standing five feet behind Hayle.

It was as if she were watching in slow motion. Hayle followed her eyes and turned to look behind him—and then Ben tackled him.

Reina jumped away as the pair tumbled to the concrete floor. There was yelling, and a sick ‘crack’ as someone’s skull hit the floor. Flying limbs were everywhere—and then, to Reina’s shock, Isabelle stepped into the back room. And before Reina could react, she had dialed something on her cell phone. 

“Fight—there’s a fight, Casanova Thrift—“

Reina didn’t have time to protest. There was a sudden silence. Shaking, she looked down—Mr. Hayle was knocked out cold, a welt swelling on his forehead, and Ben was on his knees, panting, staring vindictively at his manager. Reina dropped to her knees and cupped his face, seeing that he was quickly developing a black eye.

Reina touched his cheek, and he winced.

“You idiot,” she whimpered. 

Sirens, not uncommon in their part of town, sounded. Reina pulled Ben to his feet as Isabelle, looking pale and terrified, ran to the door and let them in.

Three police burst into the back room, lifted Ben off the floor and descended upon Mr. Hayle. One called an ambulance—the other turned to Reina.

“What happened?”

But Reina’s mouth seemed to be sealed shut.

The woman was in her face, police cap casting a shadow over her face, but her deep brown eyes searched Reina’s. “What happened? I need you to tell me what happened.”

“My manager—on the floor. He—touched me—,”

The woman nodded, as if she understood.

“Ben—fought him.”

The woman turned around and glanced at Ben, who was being held by two policemen, both significantly shorter than him.

“Ben’s your boyfriend?”

“Yes.”

The woman turned back around, but not before giving Reina a final glance. 

“We’re going to detain him,” she said. “One night. We need to make sure this—man’s— vitals and brain have taken no significant damage.”

Reina stared, numb.

The dark-skinned woman bent back down. “If things turn out in your favor, you’ll be able to sue him.”

Reina was still numb. She didn’t want to sue him. She didn’t want trouble.

Upon Reina giving no response, the policewoman turned away, just as a few ambulance workers entered the room and lifted Mr. Hayle onto a stretcher.

Ben glanced back once, his black eye significantly darker. His expression was pained, helpless. It reminded her of the first time she’d met him.

And then he was gone, and Reina was left to stare down at Mr. Hayle as the ambulance workers strapped him to the cot. She felt her brow wrinkle in disgust and indignation as she stared down at this man.

But the worst part was that she found herself wishing Ben hadn’t seen anything, because this was her home, and she was scared—so, so scared—to do anything that could endanger her place there.

Now it was too late.


	25. Snow...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Trigger warning--abuse.))

It was two-twenty-two in the morning, and Reina Contreras was sitting by the phone.

She’d been talking to Lucas Sky (Shaw) for the last three hours, trying to figure out a way to get his money to her. The best they’d come up with so far involved Lucas paying a Marathon gas station near him, and Reina picking it up at a Marathon near her. But Lucas Sky, as it turned out, wasn’t the best at handling conversations with strangers.

Reina was on the phone, listening, eyes tired, as Lucas spoke to the man being the counter.

“So—you say this comes with a money-back guarantee? Say—if my money gets lost somewhere along the way?”

In an exasperated voice, Reina heard the cashier say, “Your money isn’t actually going anywhere, Mr. Sky.”

“But—how am I supposed to know if it gets to Reina at all?”

“You’re on the phone with her now, aren’t you?”

A pause.

“Oh. Yeah. Right, sorry,” Lucas said, giving a laugh.

Reina was sure the cashier wasn’t laughing.

“Lucas? Did you do it?”

“It’s all set, honey,” Lucas said.

“Thank you,” Reina said. “Thank you so much.”

There was another pause, and then a whimper from Luke.

“How did it happen?”

“What?”

“What did he sell? Who bought it? I’m going to take them out with my bare—,”

As much as she doubted that Lucas could actually take anyone out, bare hands or no, Reina thought she should probably stop him. “No, Lucas—he didn’t sell any drugs. He got in a fight.”

The other line was silent for a few seconds.

“Oh.”

Reina didn’t know what to say.

Lucas didn’t make her say anything. Surprising her, he said, “I’ll let you go, now. And Reina, hon? You don’t have to bail him out, if it’s such trouble. We’re his family.”

A heavy stone seemed to be settling in Reina’s stomach. 

She pulled Fatso into her lap and buried her nose in his fur. She wanted to say ‘I’m his family, too,’ but the words just wouldn’t come out. 

“Bye, Lucas.”

“Bye, Reina, honey.”

Click.

 

Reina’s windbreaker wasn’t the warmest thing she could have worn on a night like this, but she hadn’t been able to find her winter coat. She’d dug around her apartment, near tears for no apparent reason, throwing things this way and that, looking for that damned coat. Giving up, she’d finally grabbed a windbreaker, and Ben’s knit hat (she hadn’t been able to find her own) left the apartment. The stairs onto the street were icy, and she was going so fast she almost slipped and fell on her ass, but she was able to steady herself in time.

The wind was howling down the narrow streets and the snow was thick and heavy. On any other night, she thought, Reina would have appreciated the big flakes.

The gas station-method worked, and Reina left the Marathon with a sealed envelope of cash. The police station wasn’t far. In twenty minutes she was in front of the big, flat brick building that was still light even at two in the morning. Without hesitation, she pushed the plastic door open and reveled in the heat wave that washed over her.

The man at the counter was half-asleep, leaning against the wall.

Reina cleared her throat, and he sat up. 

“Can I help you?”

“I’m here to pay bail.”

“Name?”

“Reina Contrer—oh—you mean—his name’s Ben. Benjamin Shaw.”

The man nodded drowsily and unclipped his walkie-talkie from his belt.

“Bring out Ben Shaw, cell five.”

Then he held out a hand. Reina stuck the envelope in his hand, and he took it, opened it, and counted. Then he set it in a pile on the side of the desk.

Reina stood there.

“They’ll be out with him in a minute.”

Reina nodded and turned around, hands still shoved deep in her pockets. She walked over to the wall, where three chairs were, and sat down in the middle one.

It took a good forty-five minutes. Finally, she spotted a man in a uniform walking with Ben down the hall. She stood up.

When Ben saw her, he looked away. 

“Thank you,” Reina said to the officer at the counter. He just looked up, and then gave her a nod.

Reina glanced up at Ben, but he still wouldn’t turn his face toward her. She started out of the station, and he followed her into the cold. He didn’t put his hands in his pockets or pull up his hood, as if he couldn’t feel the cold.

“Prison changed you,” Reina joked—and then felt immensely stupid. She didn’t know why she felt the need to lighten the mood. 

Ben didn’t laugh.

Reina stopped abruptly, and Ben ran into her.

“A thank-you would be nice,” she said.

Immediately, Ben responded, “Thank you.”

“Hey,” she said. “Hey. Look at me.”

She grabbed his chin and turned his face toward her. Ben ripped his face away.

“I’m sorry.” Reina said. “I didn’t mean to—,”

But now he was looking at her, and his black eye was more pronounced than before, and there were red marks on his chin where her fingers had gripped it.

“I’m—I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I thought—,”

Ben stepped away, crossing his arms over his chest, and Reina recognized the gesture as a sign of self-defense. She felt as if a knife was piercing her chest.

“I’m sorry.”

“You paid my bail,” he said. “Why?”

“Lucas paid it.” Reina said.

“You paid it,” he insisted. “Why?”

Reina looked away, her arms now crossed too. “Because I love you.”

“You don’t love me,” Ben said.

“Yes, I do.” 

“No,” Ben said. “You’re attached to me. You need me.”

Reina kicked the ground with the tip of her shoe. “What’s the difference?”

Ben was frowning strongly, staring up at the snowy sky. 

“Please, Ben,” she said. “This is ridiculous! I paid your bail. Come home with me.”

The next words out of his mouth made Reina’s blood boil.

“I don’t have a home.”

“Shut UP!” 

And she shoved him. Immediately, she gasped at herself.

Ben just stood there, looking surprised and pained and somehow horrified.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, but the words sounded dead to her ears. 

“You don’t love me,” Ben said. “I don’t need you.”

“Ben, please,” she said. “Ben. You’re just…we’re just tired. And I’m sorry. Please, please just come home.”

Ben’s gaze drifted to the floor.

“Please.”

Reina started to walk, and to her immense relief, Ben followed her.

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment! I'd love some critiquing. And kudos if you enjoyed it ❤️ Thank you!  
> \--  
> 


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